Past Experiences
by mossley
Summary: An unwanted visitor from his past causes trouble for Grissom and Sara. Entry to the Improv Challenge. First and last lines are given, with 1000 words to fill in the rest.


**Past Experiences  
****Summary:** An unwanted visitor from his past causes trouble for Grissom and Sara.  
**A/N: **This week's entry to the Improv Challenge. First and last lines are given, with 1,000 words to fill in the rest. There's a reference to an earlier story, _Hands on Approach_, but it's not necessary to read that one first. As always, thanks to Burked for her beta abilities. Any remaining typos are mine.  
**Rating:** PG for some language.  
**Disclaimer:** I really don't have anything to do with the show.

* * *

"Where did you find her?" asked Brass. 

"Outside the building, sir," the young officer responded. "She was staggering around, looking in all the windows. I tried to call an ambulance, but she refused medical treatment."

"Did she tell you what happened?" he asked hopefully, since his own attempts to garner information had failed miserably.

"No, sir. All she would say was that she needed to see Mr. Grissom. Said that he'd know what to do, that he'd helped her before. She won't talk to anyone else."

"Okay," the captain sighed, dismissing the officer. Standing outside the holding room, Brass observed the disheveled occupant, trying to piece together what had happened. Bloodstains marred her face, her clothing was dirty but intact, and there were no signs of defensive wounds on her hands.

"Hey, Brass."

Turning around, he smiled paternally as Sara approached, her hands shoved nonchalantly into her pockets.

"Where's your partner in crime?"

"Crime-solving," she corrected with a lopsided grin. "He's in the little bugs' room. Too much coffee. What's up?"

"That's for him to find out," Brass said. "Our mystery guest refuses to talk to anyone but Grissom."

"Oh, my God!"

Brass jerked his head to stare at Sara, who in turn was staring open-mouthed at the woman inside. This wasn't a reaction he'd been expecting. "You know her?"

"Rochelle La Putain," she said in disbelief.

"You don't say," he said dryly. "And who the hell is that?"

"A drunk. We processed her. A couple of weeks ago. She was brought in covered in blood. Wasn't hers. Never did figure out what happened to her. Didn't remember what happened when she sobered up."

"Why do I feel like I'm getting the Reader's Digest version, 'cept with all the good parts cut out?" Brass asked, feeling a cross between of impatience and amusement at her staccato answers.

"She, uh, well, uh, she, she…"

"What?" Brass asked. "Serial killer? Eats puppies?"

"She liked Grissom."

"I can see where the thought of a woman liking Gil could be hard to believe," he deadpanned.

Sara swung her head around, glaring at the police captain sharply. His innocent look didn't cover his obvious teasing. "She was, uh, very, um, demonstrative about it."

"What? You mean she told him he was cute?"

Sara blushed, running her tongue over her teeth and staring at the floor. "No. She, um, well, uh, she felt him up."

"Gil got molested by a little old lady?" Brass sputtered as he tried to hold in his laughter. He completely failed after he turned around to stare at her, catching La Putain in the act of adjusting her bosom in her overly tight, sequin-covered tube top. The orange material clashed hideously with her pink body glitter. "That little old lady?"

"It wasn't funny!" Sara insisted, trying unsuccessfully to keep her lips from twitching.

"Please tell me there's a tape of it somewhere. I'll pay."

"Brass!"

"What's up?" Grissom called as he rounded the corner, an eyebrow rising curiously when Sara paled.

"Glad you're here. We have a bit of a problem. This dear old lady needs your help. She's a friend of yours," Brass shot out quickly, grabbing Grissom and shoving him in the holding room before Sara could react.

Grissom trudged along, looking over his shoulder in confusion as she gestured vainly at him.

"Gil! Honey! Where have you been?"

Brass leaned against the doorframe, grinning at the show before him. Grissom's head inched around slowly, his face becoming a mask of sheer terror when he finally faced La Putain.

With surprising speed, she launched herself from the chair, crossing the room and wrapping her arms around his body. Grissom hissed, leaning as far away from her as possible.

"Let's all have a seat," Sara said, physically pushing Brass out of the way and grabbing La Putain.

"You? Why aren't you in jail? Thief!"

"What did Sara steal?" an incredulous Brass asked, prodding Grissom to the table.

"Her fingerprints."

"Tell me there's a tape of that," he pleaded, smiling when Sara quickly intercepted the drunk's repeated attempts to grab her hair.

"No!"

"Gil, baby, sit next to me. You have to help me," La Putain cooed.

"What seems to be the trouble?" he asked professionally, taking the chair and moving it out of arm's reach. He sat down, his hands folded protectively in his lap.

"That bastard stole my purse."

"What bastard?" Brass asked.

"Well, if I knew his name, I wouldn't be here, would I, dipshit?"

"I'm guessing Tom Collins," Sara said, leaning away from the strong smell of alcohol.

"You witch! He's mine! Don't think you can steal him!"

"I'm certain Sara hasn't been anywhere around any Tom Collins," Grissom said, giving Sara a quick, trusting look before reaching one hand cautiously to pull La Putain back in her chair.

"She better not! I don't like her," La Putain said loudly.

"Where were you when your purse was taken?" Grissom asked, trying to end the exchange with his dignity preserved.

"With Tom Collins! Really, hon, you have to keep up."

Grissom sighed. Brass covered his laugh by a strategic cough.

"And where was Tom Collins? Both of you," he amended quickly, suspecting what her answer was going to be.

"Now I remember! I was practicing."

"Practicing?" Brass asked, his eyes wide with mirth. "What, exactly, were you practicing?"

"My old dance routine. I wanted to show Gil."

The speed with which the old woman moved astounded the room's other occupants, particularly Grissom, who was on the receiving end of a geriatric lap dance.

"Tell me you have your digital camera," Brass begged, wincing at the power behind Sara's answering slap to his arm. Grissom's expression as he tried to push the woman from his body was too good to be believed.

"I'll take her to the drunk tank," Sara said, pulling La Putain out of the room by her shoulders.

"You know, Gil, I don't think that's what the sheriff had in mind when he suggested we be friendly to the residents of Vegas."

Shaking his head, Grissom blew the pink glitter out of his hand.

**The End**


End file.
